Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.

Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God.

Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

Not always actions show the man; we find who does a kindness is not therefore kind.

The good must merit God's peculiar care; But who but God can tell us who they are?

A tree is a nobler object than a prince in his coronation-robes.